


Suitable

by Tofutti



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Platonic Life Partners, Platonically Married Ranboo and Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Scars, Tailor TommyInnit, Tommy and Tubbo help Ranboo out with a few things :), bench trio my beloved, just thinking... ranboo so tall, where'd he get that suit, yes the title is a pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 13:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tofutti/pseuds/Tofutti
Summary: Ranboo wasn't so sure about this marriage thing at first. He loves Tubbo, really, he does, but marriage is such a strange and foreign concept. And he doesn't want Tommy to feel like he's stolen his best friend.Tubbo and Tommy put in the effort to make sure Ranboo feels welcomed, though, and he couldn't be more grateful.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Tubbo, Ranboo & Tubbo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 561





	Suitable

Marriage never used to be very high on Ranboo’s to do list. 

That changed, suddenly. He isn’t sure how, but it did.

Going into it, he was uncertain. Doubtful. He loves Tubbo, he really does. But he wasn’t quite sure what those feelings _were._ They’re best friends, best friends getting married, and that’s that. But Tubbo flirted, and pestered, and said the most ridiculous things, and Ranboo didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know whether to reciprocate or laugh or just go with it. 

Tubbo is now Ranboo’s husband, and Ranboo still doesn’t know what he’s doing. Tubbo just snickers at his stuttered replies, though, so he’s pretty sure he’s got it under control. 

“You are such a stinky man,” Tubbo says one day when Ranboo walks into his house in Snowchester, easing the door shut behind him. Tubbo is standing right by the entryway, trying to fit string and stone together on a crafting table to make Prime-knows-what, and he shoots Ranboo a disparaging look. “Prime, man, you need to take a fucking shower.”

Ranboo is used to Tubbo’s non sequiturs by now. He laughs nervously, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Tubbo, I can’t touch water.”

“I thought you could? You know, with your armor on.” Curling his lip up at his work, Tubbo pushes the whatever-it-was onto the floor and dumps new stone onto the crafting table.

“Tubbo, the—” Ranboo snorts. “The whole point of the armor is that water doesn’t touch my skin. How am I supposed to take a shower with my armor on?”

“I dunno, big man, you tell me.” Leaning close over his work, Tubbo squints. 

“Wh—” Ranboo chuckles under his breath. “Okay.” Giving up, he makes his way across the room to a chest in the corner. “I brought you that iron you asked for, by the way.”

“Sweet, thanks.” 

Ranboo dumps the iron into the chest, slamming it shut and sitting on the lid. Legs splayed awkwardly in front of him, he sighs, pulling off his gloves and setting them on the windowsill.

“Wait,” Tubbo says. “How do you, like… _ever_ get clean?”

“I don’t _have_ to,” Ranboo says. “My skin isn’t all wet and sticky and gross like yours. If I get dirty I can just wipe it off.”

“Oh, yeah, you are kind of scaly, aren’t you.” Leaving the half-built contraption on the crafting table, Tubbo makes his way across the rooms, kneeling down and taking Ranboo’s hands in his. 

Tubbo examines his fingers, running curious eyes over Ranboo’s armored skin. He brushes over the burns on his palms, wrists, fingertips, feels the sharp point of his clawed nails. 

Ranboo chuckles. “What are you doing?”

Tubbo squints, pushing up the cuff of his sleeve and looking at the scarred ring there. “What happened here?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I just—” He laughs. “I, uh—sometimes, I mean—my gloves are pretty waterproof, but sometimes they slip, or I—”

Tubbo _hm_ s, a terse sound, and pulls Ranboo’s sleeve back down over his wrist. “You should be more careful,” he says, standing and making his way back over to the crafting table. 

“It’s fine—really,” Ranboo says, fiddling with his shirt cuff. “I mean, I do the best I can. I’m glad I at least have the gloves—”

“Ranboo…” Tubbo looks over his shoulder, shooting him a flat stare. “If you need better gloves, I can get you better gloves.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really.” Ranboo waves his hands. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Tubbo huffs, turning back to his work. “Okay.”

A pause. Then: “Tubbo, do I really smell?”

Tubbo laughs. Glancing at him, grinning, he says, “Nah, I was just messing with you.” 

“I can’t believe this is what I’ve married.” Ranboo sighs.

* * *

Ranboo has a total of three suits, each old and faded, well-worn but clean.

One’s in a chest somewhere back at his tundra base, folded neatly for the next time he needs it. One’s the one he wore yesterday, splattered in muddy slush from an unfortunate Tubbo-related incident. And one should be in the closet of Tubbo’s guest bedroom, a few times worn but clean enough to last him at least another day.

 _Should_ be _._

Ranboo stands in his bedroom, wearing a set of ill-fitting pajamas borrowed from Technoblade of all people (patterned in pastel-embroidered broadswords, the pants cut off above his ankles and only stay on because he’s cinched the waistband with a piece of string). The closet door hangs open. It is empty. Ranboo does not know why it is empty. Maybe he’s forgetting something—his mind is always especially spotty when he’s just woken up—but he doesn’t think he is.

Didn’t he toss yesterday’s clothes into the closet floor last night? They aren’t here, either. Maybe Tubbo took them. 

How the heck is he supposed to get dressed?

Well, he’s got a cloak, at least, a heavy-duty fur-lined thing Phil made for him. He slips it on, sighing at the comfortable weight. Phil’s tailoring was impressive, and Ranboo told him as much. Phil only laughed and said that cloaks are all he can sew well. Ranboo is pretty sure it’s true, too: one of the shirts Techno wears to farm looks soft but undeniably lopsided, and when asked about it, he commented that Phil had made it for him a few years ago. 

Anyway. Clothes-finding time. Ranboo steps into the hallway, pulling the cloak tighter around himself with a shiver.

“Tubbo?” he calls. “Hey, Tubbo!”

No response. The house is silent and still. 

“Tubbo, did you take my clothes?” Ranboo makes his way down the hall to Tubbo’s room, listening for any sort of sound to indicate that he’s awake. “Hello?”

Rapping on the door, Ranboo presses an ear against the wood, only for it to creak open. Frowning, Ranboo sticks his head into Tubbo’s room. 

It’s empty. The sheets are a lumpy mess, but that’s normal. Tubbo is nowhere to be seen. 

Anxiety’s familiar festering bite begins to rise in Ranboo’s chest. Sure, he didn’t hear any sort of commotion during the night, but what if—what if he missed it, somehow? Or what if he started sleepwalking? Maybe that’s why he can’t remember where he put his suit.

No. Tubbo is probably outside, or something. Ranboo shuts Tubbo’s door, walking briskly towards the entryway. Sure, Tubbo’s never awake before noon, what with his messed up sleep schedule, but there’s no way anything bad actually happened. Because if something bad happened, then Ranboo would have to worry about it, and then probably do something, and he really doesn’t want to do anything before he finds some clothes that don’t leave half his midsection exposed to the icy wind. 

Ranboo opens the front door, scouring the icy shoreline. “Tubbo?” he calls. 

He sighs in relief when Tubbo’s responding “Yeah?” echoes back to him. Tubbo walks around to the front of the house, grinning sheepishly when he sees Ranboo there. 

“Oh.” Tubbo is wearing rubber gloves which drip into the snow, speckled with what’s probably soap suds. The entire front of his coat is drenched. It looks cold, and Ranboo shudders just seeing it. “Good morning. Didn’t expect you to be up quite yet.” 

“What are you _doing_?” Ranboo goes to step onto the porch, then thinks better of it: he isn’t wearing shoes, and the porch is covered in snow. “And where are my clothes? Did you take them, or am I going insane?”

Tubbo laughs. “I’m washing them for you, big man! Thought I’d be done before you woke up, but clearly I failed on that front.”

“Wh—you’re doing my _laundry?_ ” Ranboo stutters. “ _Why?_ ”

“Felt bad about yesterday.” Tubbo shrugs. “Didn’t want you to have to worry about getting burnt just to get your clothes clean. I gotta say, your suit is _patchy_.”

“Tubbo, you don’t have to do that.” Ranboo can feel his shoulders hunching, can feel the anxious bubbling in his stomach, and he hates it. “I can take care of myself.”

“Well, sure.” Tubbo smiles at him. “But I want to do this. You shouldn’t have to risk getting hurt when I can do the laundry just as well.” 

“Really, Tubbo, I have gloves for a reason, I can—” 

“Ranboo. My beloved. My wonderful, wonderful husband.”

“Oh my Prime.”

“ _Ranbooooo._ Do you seriously _want_ to do the laundry?” 

Ranboo withers under Tubbo’s expectant stare. “I mean—I guess not?”

“Great!” Tubbo claps, grinning. “Glad that’s settled then. Go back inside so you don’t freeze. I’ll just be a bit.”

Tubbo waves at him, trying to force him through the door without touching the wet gloves to him, but Ranboo scowls, swatting his hands away. “Aren’t _you_ going to freeze? You’re soaked!” 

“I am _fine_ , Ranboo. I’m almost done, anyway. At least _I’m_ wearing a shirt!” 

“ _Wh_ —you suck. You suck. I’m leaving.” 

Ranboo steps back inside and slams the door, sighing in relief as the wind abates. He should probably get a fire started…

* * *

“This—this is _abhorrent_.” 

Tommy is standing in Tubbo’s living room, turning over Ranboo’s suit jacket in his hands. Ranboo winces as he examines it: the fraying pockets, the dangling buttons, the threadbare elbows. He didn’t really _intend_ to end up in this situation, it just sort of happened: Tubbo noticed that Ranboo’s clothes were, as he put it, _all patch and no clothes_ , Tubbo talked to Tommy about it—who can apparently sew?—and Tommy was in Snowchester within the hour, ready to chew him out.

“I can’t believe this is what you _wear._ This is disgusting. I hate you for this, you know.” Tommy groans as he spots another hastily-sewn patch. “How have you not replaced this yet? How long have you _had_ it?” 

“I don’t know!” Ranboo holds up his hands. “I haven’t had the chance!” 

“Yeah, well.” Tommy folds the jacket back up, tossing it onto the couch. “You could have come to me about it, couldn’t you?” 

“I didn’t know you could _sew!_ ” Ranboo protests. “Plus, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s falling apart—”

“ _You call this shit fine?_ ” Tommy’s face crumples in terrifying rage as he scans Ranboo up and down, gaze catching on every frayed thread. “Fuck _no._ This is unacceptable. _Heresy._ I will not stand for it. I’m making you a new suit. Come here.” Tommy pulls a tape measure out of seemingly nowhere, brandishing it like a weapon. 

“What? No, no, it’s fine, really—” Ranboo backs away, holding up both hands. “Tubbo, help me out here!”

“Haha, what? No.” Tubbo looks up from his book where he sits on the couch. “You’re on your own, big man.” 

“Get over here.” Tommy grabs his wrist, pulling him close. “Arms at your sides. Let me get your height.”

Ranboo complies on reflex, standing stock-still as Tommy steps on the end of the measuring tape, unreeling it until he gets to the crown of Ranboo’s head. 

“Are you sure you’re up to do this?” Ranboo asks, wincing as Tommy pushes his arms up and winds the measuring tape around his waist. “I mean, I’m sure it’s kind of hard to make a suit, and—” 

“ _You bitch!”_ Tommy pulls out a notepad as he scowls, scribbling down a few numbers. “I made the uniforms for _all_ of L’manberg—”

“—isn’t that, like, four people?”

“Shut the fuck up. And half the server at least probably has something I made in their closet. I was the only one who could sew even _remotely_ well until Captain Puffy or whatever her name is showed up.”

“Oh, Puffy can sew, too?” Ranboo hums. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, she’s shit compared to me. Obviously.” Tommy sticks his pencil in his mouth, holding out a hand. “Give me your wrist.”

Ranboo stretches his hand in Tommy’s general direction. 

“Seriously, man, how have you not got new clothes yet?” Tommy fumbles the tape measure, dropping it on the floor. “ _Shit_ — surely you’ve met at least someone who sells clothes or something since you got these?”

“No one has anything my size!” Ranboo motions at himself, and Tommy grunts as he has to readjust. “Enderman hybrids aren’t very _common_ , in case you hadn’t noticed. In fact, I hadn’t even met another hybrid until I came here.” 

“Not _one_?” Tommy sounds amazed. Ranboo supposes he grew up in a family of hybrids, so it makes sense. “Seriously, not a single one?”

“Well, there was one,” Ranboo amends. “But that was a long time ago. I haven’t seen them in ages.”

“And no one was willing to make something for you, or you didn’t have the money, or whatever it was…” Tommy mutters. “Prime. That’s fucking _sad_. Do you even want a suit, or would you prefer something else?”

“No, no, a suit’s fine,” Ranboo says. “Unless you’d rather make something easier…”

“Nah, I’m ready for the challenge. I haven’t tried to make one in like, a year.” Tommy squints. “I think it’s actually been since I made that old suit I wore when I scammed people. Tubbo, you remember when we went around scamming people?”

“Huh?” Tubbo doesn’t look up from the page he’s squinting at. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Tommy waves him off. “Hey, actually, do you want a hand with that once I’m done?”

“You couldn’t read this any better than I can,” Tubbo says absently, brow furrowed. “...be all like, what’s a piss-tone? What’s a ree-pee-tor?” 

“Wow. That was a really accurate impression, actually,” Ranboo remarks. “He’s not even paying attention and he just destroyed you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy mutters under his breath, turning back to his measurements. He’s trying and failing to hide his snickering.

Ranboo grins.

* * *

A week later, Tommy carries a crisp white button down, a carefully sewn suit jacket, and a pair of black slacks into Tubbo’s Snowchester house, and Ranboo almost cries. He has to tilt his head back to keep the tears from spilling onto his face, actually, because it’s perfect and he doesn’t know what to do. He says as much while Tubbo is running for the tissue box, and Tommy pats him on the back, saying, “Just wear it. Damn,” and Ranboo has to try even harder to not cry all over his own face.

He doesn’t regret getting married, not at all. Not if it comes with this: a permanent room in Tubbo’s house, someone who’s willing to do his laundry just because they care, and a best friend-in-law who’s ready to help him, even though they’re not much more than acquaintances. 

Ranboo knows he’ll have to leave some flowers at Tommy’s place before he heads back to his house in the tundra. For now, though, he just gives him a hug.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
